


Sweet Summer Surfing Season

by tsuristyle



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M, Sex on the Beach, Surfing, feeling awkward at a beach party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9119203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuristyle/pseuds/tsuristyle
Summary: Tsuyoshi sits next to him and watches the way his fingers dance across the strings, watches the sky glow red and dim to stars, watches the people around him lean into each other in touches and looks of casual promise. He doesn't know why Kimura invited him, in this lingering summer heat, not when he so clearly doesn't belong here.(Kimura invites Tsuyoshi to a beach party. The lyrics to Sweet Summer Surfing Season can be foundhere, if you're curious. Written July 2015.)





	

Tsuyoshi doesn't know why Kimura invited him out, miles from Tokyo to the distant ocean with a surfboard crowding the car and the summer sun beating in through the windshield. He doesn't know any of the music Kimura plays, he doesn't know anything about surfing. He doesn't know any of the people who greet Kimura like an old friend, and when Kimura takes off for the waves, he's left feeling out of place, a piece in the wrong puzzle.  
  
He busies himself helping out with the food, preparing meat and vegetables with girls in cut-off jeans whose names end in -ko, helping guys with pulled-back hair and weatherbeaten skin lug grills and coolers down from their cars. There's only so much he can be useful for, though, so when the grills are lit and someone hands him a beer, he cracks it open and shuffles down to the driftwood line to stare out at the ocean.  
  
Kimura is lithe on his board, riding waves with the easy grace that Tsuyoshi knows from his dancing. He trusts in his body to follow his mind, and the board seems to become an extension of that out on the water, obeying his every beck and call from the first sight of a wave to the last tail-end where Kimura drops into the water with an exhilarated laugh. Tsuyoshi watches for longer than he should, until his bandmate is sailing his way and wading out of the shallows with his board under one arm, hair dripping and teeth bared in a grin of sheer adrenaline.  
  
"Wanna try?" He doesn't wait for an answer, instead taking the beer from Tsuyoshi's hand and knocking back a long swing. He grins again, and drags Tsuyoshi up to the party in a trail of salt water.  
  
There is grilling and more beers and raucous laughter and someone props a stereo up on a log, girls and guys dancing flirtateously to more music Tsuyoshi barely recognizes. He sits on the sand and watches Kimura dance, the sway of his hips at least familiar in the lowering sun. Kimura flirts, too, trailing his fingers and rolling his hips, but it's the kind that ends in laughter, nothing asked and nothing meant. Kimura is just having fun.  
  
They gather around a bonfire as the sun starts to set, and Kimura pulls a guitar out of his car, strumming melodies as the laughter grows quieter. Tsuyoshi sits next to him and watches the way his fingers dance across the strings, watches the sky glow red and dim to stars, watches the people around him lean into each other in touches and looks of casual promise. He doesn't know why Kimura invited him, in this lingering summer heat, not when he so clearly doesn't belong here.  
  
But when Kimura's friends slowly take their leave, handshakes and waves and future plans called back across the sand until the last of the headlights swerve away and the only light left is the dying embers of the fire, Kimura stills his hands on the strings and looks at him.  
  
"Thanks for coming," he says, so low as to almost be a murmur. He doesn't look away, and there is nothing playful about him now.  
  
"You invited me," Tsuyoshi murmurs back, transfixed by the firelight in his bandmate's gaze. Kimura sets the guitar aside, and the waves suddenly seem loud in his ears.  
  
Kimura is anything but flirtatious, everything asked and everything meant in the press of his lips and caress of his hands. Tsuyoshi answers in every way he can; he strokes his fingers through hair still tangled and damp, the sand cool under his back, and moans into Kimura's mouth as the other works them both in rough, desperate strokes. His bandmate smells like fire and smoke, tastes like the ocean.  
  
Kimura invited him, and in the last fading glow of the embers, he understands why. He fits next to Kimura, belongs there, because that is the space Kimura has made for him, bodies melting together in brief perfection under the hazy stars. The sound of the waves settles over them in the dark, wrapping them in its rhythm, and for a moment it almost seems as though they are the only ones left to hear it, washed away by the flow of the ocean into a moment of undying summer twilight.  
  
Then Kimura joins him on the sand, lining himself along Tsuyoshi's side like that's where he fits, too, and drapes his arm across Tsuyoshi's chest with another languid kiss. "You should come next time, too," he murmurs, and the flow of time moves on. The summer is still long ahead of them yet.


End file.
